


he was

by blinded_by_the_sun



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blinded_by_the_sun/pseuds/blinded_by_the_sun
Summary: I do not own any characters or scenes taken from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller





	he was

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any characters or scenes taken from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

This and this and this. I remember revealing to her of the times he and I spent together.

* * *

  
Like the royalty he is, he was surrounded by the other boys — future advisers or companions — and far across the long table I sat, our gazes met. I loathed him and I envied him, but not for long.

  
Our friendship was strained and tight like a cord ready to snap, fresh and raw from mutual indifference. When inevitably dragged to his lessons, I was content to observe and keep to myself. He studied and talked, I just watched and listened— he was always better at talking.

  
I remember when warm sunlight streamed through the windows of ~~our~~ his room, stacks of texts leant dangerously to one side, and we sat on the floor with the cushions and woolen blankets. He was playing my mother's harp, caressing the wood and carding through the string while I watched in silence awe.

  
Our journey to maturity was spent in the mountains, in a cave hidden from his mother's view. We were laughing when we raced up the hills barefooted, a challenge with the last not getting to feast on the juicy meat of the latest hunt.

* * *

It ended abruptly.

  
War was brewing and his mother insists, _With me! Leave this place and I shall save you from your fate._ He left his father and his people, his destiny to win the war, his fate to be the greatest warrior in all of Greece, his eventual glory and victories, _he left_ ~~_me_ ~~

* * *

  
_Name one hero who was happy,_ he challenged. I couldn't.

  
_I'm going_ _to be the first,_ he declared with such confidence and yet, he took my hand in his as if seeking for assurance and certainty. He grasped my hand as he made me swear.

  
_Why me?_

_Because you are the reason._

* * *

_A_ _glorified death,_ some might say. _A pitiful attempt,_ others spat with scorn. I paid no mind to them. My body was a single bone thrown to a hungry pack of wolves. It did not leave the battle unscathed. News have reached our camp it seems, I realized as I tried in vain to block the howls of pain and sorrow.

  
The earth shook and trembled, forcing even the gods to witness the grieving of a warrior. His sobs and cries, his tears were shed without care.

  
With a new vengeance, he commits deeds offensive even in the eyes of the gods. He was pleaded to, and thank the heavens he relented.

  
I watched, the only thing I could do while stuck in the land of the living. Helpless, I watched the victory of ours achieved by the ruthless son hailed as Fire. My allies and comrades parted ways, starring as their own protagonist after the downfall of my dear _friend, brother, warrior,_ ~~_lover._~~

I saw him smile as he fell to the ground. He died from an arrow struck by the brother of the corpse he dragged through the mud on the streets.

* * *

_He awaits for you,_ she said. I wonder for how long. How long had he spent searching for me, longer than I when I waited for my ashes to be buried with his?

There was only gray until we reached for each other, then everything was light and I could see him.

Only a small distance separates us and our gazes meet. His eyes hold mine, ever green and alive. Hair dark as honey yet a glowing ember, and skin smelling of the earth and pomegranate. The curve of his jaw slacked, broad shoulders sagged with relief, and a soft smile shaped his lips.

The sun was unforgiving as it bore down on us.

  
_I_ _have done it,_ she said. She meant her carvings on the stone

I am reminded of the years before, during our youth. We knew nothing of loss, grief and war. We were just children on the verge of becoming young men, too young to brood and grieve. Too young to be running off to the battlefield to claim wealth, fame and glory.

Too young to die in the game of war.

* * *

**A C H I L L E S** , it reads

And beside it, **P A T R O C L U S**

Our gazes meet and we say nothing.


End file.
